#ungendered reader

“Aha. Perfect timing to make eye contact,” Raifort calls out, followed by my name. She then proceeds to ask a question about what she was just discussing, knowing that I wasn’t paying attention. 

Instead, I was engaged in a quiet, heated discussion with my desk-mate, research partner, and one of my only friends in Paldea so far… about our teacher’s hair.

Why does that one piece of her fringe move so much? Is it sentient? Is it a glitch in the life-simulation? Would it bleed if she were to cut or shave it off? Does she know it does that? Does she do it on purpose somehow? This is important stuff! 

“Get fucked,” my accomplice whispers as I stutter out gibberish. I try to gather my thoughts and come up with something to appease Raifort.

Once I realize it’s to no avail, I give up, lean back in my seat, and shoot my friend a squint. One that silently says, ‘I hate you, if she gets mad it is totally your fault, I will kill you if you make this any worse.’

Smirking, Arven’s leaning on our shared desk with both elbows, with his hands against his forehead. He’s using his right one to hold a pen, as well as keep his bangs out of the corresponding eye, and he’s slightly turned towards me. Making sure he can inconspicuously watch me suffer at his expense, with that pretty teal gaze of his. I am but a jester in his court. Luckily, Raifort catches on and calls the man out.

“Oh, perhaps you would like to answer the question instead, Master Arven?” 

His head whips up, and he drops his bangs (and nearly his pen). “N-no thank you, ma’am.”

Raifort sighs, letting this exchange slide with a curt glare, and continues her lecture.

I snort back a laugh, covering it up by clearing my throat. Then, I softly parrot “Get fucked,” into Arven’s ear, nudging his elbow with mine. Just as we both break into a fit of giggles, we’re saved by the bell.

“You’re a prick,” I laugh as I shove my notes into my backpack. 

“No you,” Arven quips. Very original. “What are you doing after this?” he asks, shifting the conversation. 

“Well,” I ponder, “You wanted to scope out the area where our next titan allegedly lives this week, yeah?” He nods, walking in front of me as we exit the class. “Cool, then let’s go!”

“What? Now?!” I nod and hum enthusiastically as I wrap around to his left. He looks out the nearby window at the sunset, and his one visible eyebrow furrows as he turns to face me. “Don’t get me wrong little buddy, I love the enthusiasm, but it’s a bit late for that. It’ll be dark by the time we’re on site.”

I let my trusty Fuecoco out of its Pokéball. It looks up at us as we slow to a halt, and I present it to Arven, arms stretched out towards the Pokémon. “Our flashlight!” 

Fuecoco, wanting to help, does its own little pose. Its arms promptly spread, and it balances on one stubby leg, shaking as it tries not to fall over.

Arven bites back a smile and rolls his eyes. “We went to a ton of classes today, I don’t want to do more work.” 

I scoop up Fuecoco and scratch under its chin before we continue walking. “We can camp, too...” 

Arven deadpans me, pursing his lips in frustration. He loves camping. There’s no way he’ll turn down a late-night adventure if it ends with a good ol’ camp!

“I’ll let you make the sandwiches,” I sing, trying to convince him further.

We reach the entrance hall and pull off to a nearby pillar to get out of other students’ ways. After placing his backpack on the ground next to his legs, Arven crosses his arms and leans against the pillar. I lean against the nearest wall, about 2 feet away. Fuecoco is having a blast inspecting all the passing students from my arms, occasionally waving to their accompanied Pokémons. 

“You won’t just give them all to the lizardmobile?” he asks, staring down at me with contempt.

“Shouldn’t you be flattered that ‘Raidon loves your cooking?!” I whine. I shake my head, and knowing Arven’s retort already, I cut him off before he can even start. “Either way, no promises, but I swear to Arceus I won’t complain about being hungry.”

A heavy sigh leaves the ambiguously blond’s nostrils. “…Go on,” Arven prompts, wanting more bribes.

I squint at him. He gives me a smug grin. “Hmm,” I dramatically hum in thought. “I’ll pay for the ingredients.”

“And?”

“I’ll get stuff to make s’mores, too.”

“And?”

“What more do you want from me, dude?!” 

His smile is now downright evil, and he stays silent. He untucks a hand to vaguely gesture at me, then crosses it back into his arms, waiting for me to continue. 

“I can, uh.” I look around for ideas, but I’ve got nothing. “I dunno…” I wince, knowing that ‘I dunno’ is not a very convincing offer.

He chuckles. 

Noticing how sleepy Fuecoco seems to be getting, I return it. Now, it’s time to use my last resort. 

“Pleeease?” I pout. Fidgeting with Fuecoco’s ball. Tucking my arms behind my back and swiveling my upper body to feign innocence. Batting my eyelashes for added effect.

It looks like there’s a hint of rosiness to Arven’s cheeks as he gives in, clutching his fists. He turns his head in another direction, shutting his eyes. What a drama queen! I beam, though, knowing what this means.

“Fine.” I open my mouth to cheer, but he holds up a palm to stop me. “But we’re only investigating for an hour.”

I scowl. “2 hours.” I make my way to the nearest hallway and dig through my bag for my student ID.

“Hour and a half.”

“3 hours!”

“No?”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you!” He laughs, following me. “Go pack before I change my mind.”

“You don’t need to?” I question, swiping my card at the station closest to the elevators. Arven reaches behind himself and pats his obnoxiously large backpack. I roll my eyes in response. “Wait here, then. I’ll try to be quick.”

_______________

Arven was right. After a quick stop at Deli Cioso, we made our way on ‘Raidon to the steel titan’s location, where it was pitch black. Only had the moon, the stars, and Fuecoco as our guiding light. 

We tried to work with it: Observing the various burrows in the cliffsides, the uniform cracks in the ground, the way the earth would occasionally rumble beneath us. But when Fuecoco was startled by a cheeky Misdreavous, it accidentally lit the corner of my notebook on fire. We took that as a sign to call it a night.

Arven and I found a nice spot to make camp, high up and overlooking a distant Levincia. I can’t wait to go there for the gym challenge. Maybe I’ll try to spend a few nights there with my prize money.

I take a break from my daydreaming and turn back to see Arven setting up a foldable table to make food on. Or, at least he’s trying to. Both of our teams are very eager to get in his way. My Tinkatuff keeps whacking its hammer at the table legs, shaking it up, while Arven’s Toedscruel pokes at his back, wanting attention.

“Need any help?”

“No,” he stubbornly mumbles. 

I roll my eyes and find a spot to sit by the campfire. My back is up against a tree, and I’m on a spare blanket that I brought specifically for this purpose. Figured it’s better than letting our pants get all dirty on the ground. 

Just as I’m getting cozy, I hear a frustrated “Oh, you little shits!” I peer up, and my friend is looking at me from his workstation, his features riddled with defeat. 

The table is covered in sandwich-picks, salt, pepper, and lettuce, which Arven’s Greedent is eagerly munching away at. Poor guy can’t do anything about it because my Eevee is parkouring between his arms and shoulders, slipping right out from his grasp every time he thinks he can grab it.

I can’t help but laugh at the mess unraveling before me, but get up to help anyway. After returning each of my Pokémon to their balls, Arven is able to do the same. 

“Not having a chance to battle all day must’ve really amped them up,” he grumbles, cleaning the spilled food and condiments. 

I lean over the table, opposite from him. “Excuse me for wanting to take a day off from the treasure hunt to make sure neither of us will flunk out.”

“I didn’t even need most of the classes we went to today.”

“Technically, you do,” I point out. “You’re, like, way behind on credits, no?” He scoffs, and incoherently grumbles under his breath. Trying to think on the bright side, I add on, “Cheer up, bud. Being able to pick when we go to which classes and who we go with is cool, at least. My last college would never.”

“True,” he grunts, lugging out a portable generator to plug his panini press into. “Still doesn’t make me enjoy any of it.” 

After rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, Arven dips his head down, pulling a hair tie out from one of his pockets. I’m about to nag him, like, ‘The better you do, the sooner you’ll be done, and I can help you study,’ and all that. But instead, he stands up straight again, and my brain short-circuits. 

Forearms. Broad shoulders. Both eyes. Ponytail. Baby hairs— oh, he’s pinning them back. Those eyes. Both eyes! Eyebrows. Neck… thick. Hair… up… Oh Arceus the puffy vest is coming off too.

Hrng. Shit.

Arven says something but I don’t hear him. Have his lips always looked so nice? Since when is he this attractive? How do I look? Do I look okay? Does he think I look okay? 

A large hand snaps in front of my face, and I hear my name being sternly spoken by the man in front of me. I blink a few times, coming to. How long was I staring for? 

“W-wha—?”

“Everything okay, amiguito?” 

Both of Arven’s bushy eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks concerned for me, albeit amused. My cheeks feel warm with blush, and I can only hope that he doesn’t notice it. 

“Y-yeah, uh,” I struggle to form words. “Tired, I guess.” 

His eyes zigzag around my face… and he looks… so... Oh no, oh no oh no oh no he is so hot. And he totally can see how red my face is with how bright the nearby fire is. He’s about to pry — I can tell by his arms folding across his chest — but I make a swift escape.

“Oops! Leftsomethinginthetent!”

I can comfortably stand up straight in our tent, but opt to fall to my knees, curling into a ball while I try to get my act together.

I’ve thought Arven was cute ever since I met him a few months ago. But I’ve never felt, like… like this. It doesn’t make any sense! I’ve never looked into his eyes and felt Butterfrees in my stomach. I’ve never looked at his mouth and wanted to kiss it. I’ve never looked at his neck and wondered what it would look like covered in love bites. My love bites. 

Or… I don’t think I have…?

I spend a few heartbeats wracking my brain for clues. Seeing if this is as sudden as it feels like it is. But like a train, I’m hit with thoughts of all the stolen glimpses I’ve taken in passing. Of my stomach doing flips when Arven murmurs my name a certain way. His smile sometimes being all it takes to brighten my worst days. The way I’ve memorized the feeling of his hand wrapped with mine, pulling me off the ground or ripping me away from danger…

Oh god.

It makes complete sense, actually.

How in the world am I supposed to go back out there and focus on anything other than him, now that it’s all clicked?

Phew. I gotta breathe. I can do this! I’ll just act how I usually do. That shouldn’t be too hard, right? Right! 

I check my appearance with my phone’s camera, take another deep breath, and emerge back outdoors. Rather than meeting Arven at the table, I sit by the fire again. I feel eyes on me, and feeling hopeful that it’s a wild Pokémon, I look up at Arven… who’s looking at me. 

“What?”

“¿Qué pasa?” he asks. “You seem weird.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about, I’m fine. Peachy as a pecha berry.”

“Sure...” 

“I am!”

He sighs, and continues assembling our sandwiches. “Did… did I do something wrong?” Arven asks. 

“What?”

“I-I do really appreciate that you want me to do well in classes, if that’s what this is about. It’s amazing that you help me out as much as you do, and I’m sorry if it didn’t seem like—”

My brows furrow as I cut him off, “What?! Arven, i-it’s fine, I get you. This has nothing to do with that.”

“Aha!” He whips around to face me after putting one of the sandwiches into the heated press. “Something is up.” 

My mouth opens and closes a few times, trying to find words. Then, I frown. Then, I look at the fire. If I ignore him, he’ll surely drop it, right? 

Wrong.

I hear footsteps, but don’t look up. I see something crouching near me, but I shift my eyes the other way. Then, I hear a thump in each ear and see a shadow in my peripherals. I finally look up, and Arven’s arms are outstretched to either side of me. When I meet his eyes, I realize that his face is closer than I could’ve ever expected it to be. Oh Arceus above.

“A-Arven?!”

“Please let me help you, bud. All I want is to be able to help you the way you’ve been helping Mabosstiff and I.”

I’ve only ever known Arven to be persistent, and a little clingy, and self-conscious enough to max out both of those traits at certain times. Realistically, I should’ve seen something like this coming. But even if I did, nothing could have prepared me for him to cage me against a tree. Face inches from mine. Both eyes boring into mine with concern.

What am I supposed to say?! ‘Sorry, but you’re ridiculously attractive, and apparently I have feelings for you, and I only realized that because you pUT YOUR HAIR IN A STUPID FUCKING PONYTAIL—‘

He addresses me again, softer this time. My eyes are trained on his smooth lips, drinking in the way they ebb as he speaks my name. I snap out of my trance, and when I look into his eyes, there’s a certain vulnerability I’ve only seen come out when it comes to his partner Pokémon.

Oh god damnit. 

There’s no getting out of this.

I let out a shaky breath, and all I can manage to squeak out, is “Y-you… you’re really handsome, is all. Caught me off guard.” I mean, it’s half-true.

I look down, worried about what expression I’ll see in Arven’s eyes. I mean to look ‘through’ him, but instead I’m focused on his lips again. I gnaw at my own bottom one to stop myself from leaning in towards my friend’s.

When I notice how silent he’s been, I bravely peek up, and his cheeks are a deep, tamato berry red. His eyebrows twitch, unsure of where to settle. It’s adorable. And his mouth is open ever so slightly, like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know what or how.

As if the universe is trying to save me, Arven and I smell something burning, and lock widened eyes. I peek past him at the fire, while he removes his palms from the tree and twists his upper body towards the table. 

“Shit!” Arven exclaims, scrambling to his feet.

_______________

“I can’t believe you’re eating that.”

I look up from my plate and shrug. “The fillings even out the taste of char.”

Arven laughs. “You’re nasty. Even your dumb lizard didn’t want it.”

“Duh, it has a refined palette.” Through another half-mouthful of burnt bread, melted cheese, and various proteins and veggies, I continue, “It’sh been shpoiled by your herba myshtica concoctionsh.”

Swiping the crumbs of his finished sandwich off his pants and onto his empty plate, Arven responds, “Fair. But still, I could’ve just made you a new one.” He nods over to Levincia, and adds, “‘Raidon could have brought you down there for more bread and back in only a few minutes, no?”

“Well, probably, but I didn’t wanna wait.”

He puts the plate down beside him and puts his hands behind his head, leaning back onto the same tree he had me pinned against no more than 20 minutes ago. His eyes are closed. He looks so peaceful. So pretty…

Nope. Gotta stop. I can’t gawk at him again. I’ve done more than enough of that. 

“Plus,” I add to my previous statement, “I don’t like to be wasteful.”

“You're like a Garbodor.”

I gasp, feigning offense. Even though Arven can’t see my expression, the corners of his lips are upturned. 

“If I were a pokémon I’d be something way cuter, thank you very much.” 

Wanting to get it out of the way, I hork down the last bite of my sandwich. The warmed fillings truly are delicious, but we have no utensils, and I didn’t wanna get my hands even dirtier, so I had to settle for using the burnt bread as a vessel. It’s not exactly an easy eat.

“Sí… Mas pequeño, también,” Arven clarifies.

After chasing my food with a bunch of water, I respond, “Exaaactly.”

“Like… a Wooper.” I open my mouth to agree, and knowing me too well, he holds up a finger to stop me. His lids open slightly as he side-eyes me. “A Paldean Wooper. Not the blue ones you had back in wherever-the-hell.”

I tuck my legs to my chest and snort back a laugh. “Are you telling me I look like a Wooper covered in shit?”

“Are you insulting the fauna of my country?” I deadpan him, and his smile grows. “Also, yes, I am calling you a Wooper covered in shit.” I roll my eyes at his confirmation.

“I tell you that you look good, and this is the thanks I get…” I mumble into my knees.

As if he’d forgotten, Arven’s eyes widen. A thick blush coats his nose and cheeks, and my own face copies. Fuck. Why did I say that? Everything was going so well.

“Y-you… hah,” he lets out a breathy laugh and continues, “You did say that, didn’t you?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” I mutter under my breath, “Arceus, why did I bring that up again?” 

Arven leans off of the tree and swivels his body to face mine. “I do.” I wanna punch that cocky smirk off his face sooo badly. Restraining myself, I look down. “I thought I said something to upset you,” he laments, prompting me to look back up. “But instead, you were just in awe of my dashing good looks.” He punctuates his sentence with a flick at his ponytail. 

I feel myself getting flustered again, so I can’t think of a witty response. I just laugh into my knees, and hug them closer. The laugh trails into a frustrated growl. Then, I grumble something that I barely even understand, followed by a surprised squeak when I feel a large palm ruffling my hair. 

“Seriously, though, what else is wrong?”

“Nothing?” I mutter out while smoothing Arven’s mess.

“What do you mean? It can’t be just that.”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell ya, big guy. The ponytail is a good look for you.”

“...You’re messing with me, ¿sí?”

“Just take the compliment!” I snap. “You’re hot, Arven. I don’t typically function as intended when I’m around people I like.” 

Wide, turquoise eyes pierce into mine. “‘Like,’ eh?”

In disbelief that I’m spewing all this right now, I bury my face into my hands. Trying to maneuver around the situation, I ramble, “I mean, you’ve seen me with Saguaro. My ability to form coherent words eludes me when I’m around that hunk.”

“You think I’m hot?”

“Arven.”

“And you like m—“

“Bud.”

“Amiguito—“

“Please stop,” I whine, trying not to actually cry or throw a tantrum.

The crackling of the campfire fills empty space, assisted by the occasional lokix chirp. Waves crash in the distance, but any bustle coming from Levincia is silent to us. A few moments go by, and still feeling Arven’s eyes on me, I sigh. 

“It’s just… weird for me,” I quietly explain. “You’re my best friend. I never expected to suddenly be hit with feelings any greater than that.”

“Just to clarify,” he teases, “this happened because I put my hair up?”

“I mean,” I trail off to find my wording. Looking everywhere except his face. “I-I’m sure it was brewing longer than that and I just didn’t realize. It’s dumb, I know, but—” 

Arven shuffles over to make more space in front of the tree. Shifting his position from cross-legged to sitting on his knees, he then pulls me closer to him, by the waist, all while his eyes never stray from mine. Then, just like earlier, he traps me against the tree. Last time he did this, his eyes were filled with worry. This time, they’re dark with want. Oh good god.

Dumbfounded by the intimate touch, and how he’s looking at me, and how close we are, and the way he’s now cupping my face with one of his hands and moving his face closer to my face oh my god, I stutter, “W-what are you—?!”

“Cállate, pendejo,” he whispers, just before his lips meet mine. 

______________________________________________________________

Author’s Note 2.0, I guess: *I’m not a native Spanish speaker, so please correct me if I’m wrong!! But I went with “male” endings to words because like, iirc, addressing something with a male pronoun is the closest there is to gender-neutrality in a case like this? I think? And I wanted this to be as ungendered as I could make it so anyone can feel welcome :’)

Also! The Raifort hair thing refers to a glitch in my game LOL Idk if it's a universal experience but I thought it would be fun to add in

“Larissa, it happened again! It happened again!” You tore through the double doors, not bothering to knock, wrapped as you were in your enthusiasm. You employer looked at you from behind her desk, the beginning of a bemused smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Oh?” She enquired, “is your secret admirer back at it?” You proudly presented her the bouquet, a small, lovely composition of whites and pinks and greens, bound together by a round of twine. It was sweet, as all of the presents from the mysterious person were. It had been going on for a while: sometimes you would come back to your quarters and find a flower on your doorstep, other times it was a small potted plant on your desk greeting you first thing in the morning. It was sweet. It was romantic. It never failed to bring a smile to your face, no matter how long your day, or how disturbed your dreams had been.

“Still no message on it?”

You shook your head. There never was any clue as to who had been brightening your days as of late: no envelopes, no initials, no declarations of love either. Just flowers, or plants. It could have been anyone in Nevermore, and potentially someone from outside the school as well…there was no way to tell. You had tried to keep watch on your own door, or to change your routine slightly to catch the responsible in the act, but it had never worked. Of course, that only spurred your curiosity more and more. Was it a student? Or a teacher? Or maybe a normie from Jericho? Of course, your favorite fantasy was to imagine it had been your crush all along, that she returned your feelings, and you would catch her sometimes with flowers in her hands, you would both confess to each other and be madly in love happily ever after. After all, the presents were always plants, and who else could leave them if not the resident botanist?

But Marilyn had never given you any reason to believe it was her all along. The few times you had brought up the presents with her, trying to gage her reaction, she had seemed more interested in the plants themselves, explaining excitedly to you what their meaning was in the flower language: “Oh, that’s fern, it stands for fascination! And the scarlet fuchsia here is a declaration of love, and the Zephirantes, or Zephyr flower…” and so on. It was nice to know what those bouquets meant, they always were a sweet message, if Marilyn was to be believed, and if the sender had meant for them to be interpreted as such. Tender love, devotion, shyness were often the themes of their compositions. And yet, as grateful as you were to the mystery person, every time you went in search of Marilyn to interpret the bouquets, you couldn’t help but wish that this would be the time that she would hold you and admit that it had been her all along, that she knew those feelings the flowers spoke of because they had been put together by her careful fingers all this time. Wishful thinking.

“I wish they would just come out and tell me. Or at least put it in writing.” You complained to Larissa’s patient ear, as you often ended up doing as of late, “I mean, what if it is a student? That would be awkward, not to mention illegal!” Your boss had the audacity to chuckle at your distress “You are barely more than a student yourself, darling. Also, do I need to remind you that some of our students have been here for entire decades? They sure would be old enough for your delicate sensibilities.”

“But I don’t want to date a fang! They always need to feed at the most inconvenient of times.”

“Well, you are very much not required to date someone just because they send you flowers, dear. Now, I believe I pay you to help me with my paperwork, and not to pine for some mysterious Casanova.”

“Fine, you win this time! But just because I need this job.”

“And here I was, thinking you only stuck with me because of my charming personality and sensational looks.” Larissa mock-pouted, her laughing eyes giving her away.

“Well, you are quite easy on the eyes as far as bosses go, I’ll have to grant you that…” You waggled your eyebrows up and down, pretending to ogle her. You loved working for principal Weems, she had taken you in right after graduation, when your parents made it perfectly clear that you wouldn’t be welcome back home. She had given you a job, and room and board in Nevermore’s staff quarters, even though you were barely of age; and even more importantly, she had taken up the role of a parent and a mentor to you. She was your mother in all but blood by now, and these past two years working by her side had been amazing. You owed her so much and the easy-going attitude you two had together showed how tight your bond was. Today, she chuckled at your cheekiness, and playfully swatted you and your new bouquet in the direction of the door, from where a timid knock had come.

“Come in! And you, little brat, keep your flirting under control, or we’ll have to have words!” She winked at you, the wide smile on her face and the affection in her voice warming her teasing words.

“Aw boss, you know you love me! Oh, hello there, Marilyn!” You were laughing as well, almost skipping as you went towards the doors, and found yourself face to face – well, almost nose to nose, given your momentum – with none other than the one who occupied most of your thoughts recently. Your smile got even wider, delighted just at her sight, and you couldn’t help but blush at the sudden closeness, taking a weird half-step to the side to avoid completely running her over – not that you would have minded in the least to fall on her, your body pinning her to the ground in an unexpected, but certainly not unwanted position…

Wishful thinking, your brain unhelpfully reminded you.

“Oh…hello there” her smile seemed a bit forced and somewhat pained, as if she had just received a piece of bad news, or discovered an uncomfortable truth, and you felt yourself asking, almost instinctually, “Are you alright?” She seemed almost surprised at the question, and her dazed eyes seemed to find it difficult to focus on your face, studying you with a sort of distracted intensity, as if seeing you for the first time. “I’m fine, thank you. I wanted to speak to principal Weems about something, am I interrupting something?” Her voice rose a bit at this, as if she felt she was imposing on her employer’s time or something. You smiled at her, trying to dispel her worries as much as you could. “Go on! Our glorious principal is all yours, I have apparently overstayed my welcome by giving her too many compliments and have been sent back to my desk.” You flippantly pointed at the general direction of your work station, just outside and to the side of the double oak doors. You were about to exit, and something came to mind, so you turned once more to her, “Hey, are we still on for our movie night later?”

The two of you had bonded over the fact that you were the only two in the staff with a passion for fantasy. For most outcasts, whose lives were already filled with the supernatural, there was little appeal in immersing oneself in a world of magic, where wondrous beings fought against the inevitable forces of evil, guided by prophecies and honor. But Marilyn was a normie, and you had grown up with books as your only friends, and by the time your own powers had manifested, you were already in love with the escapism that a thick novel could hold in its hundreds of pages. When you had discovered this shared passion, you had been quick to propose regular movie nights to her, to show each other’s favorite movies and complain how they were totally not as good as the books. Your chats went on far longer than the movies themselves, and were part of the reason why you found herself falling harder and harder for the older woman; you could listen for hours on end to her enthusiastic rants, drinking in how her warm eyes would sparkle as she gestured wildly.

“Sure.” She answered curtly after a moment of silence, and as you exited the imposing doors, you could swear your heart could be heard through the whole corridor for how wildly it was beating. Even if she felt a bit off, she hadn’t cancelled your little movie date, and that was enough to make you glide giddily through the day’s work.

---

“That has to be the benchmark against which all fantasy movies have to be compared. It’s just such a classic.” Marilyn commented, as the end credits to The Fellowship of the Ring were rolling on the TV in front of you. You were in her quarters, her couch having been unanimously elected as the more comfortable of the two. There had been a bowl of popcorn wedged between you at the start of the movie, but it had found a new home on the coffee table as soon as all the popped kernels had disappeared, allowing you to surreptitiously scoot closer to her, close enough that you could smell the subtle floral scent of her shampoo. Jasmine. Love, purity, and beauty: you had learnt those were some of the meanings associated to the small white flower, as it had been one of the first that had appeared in your bouquets, and one that kept coming back. It had been in today’s botanic present, as well. It was very fitting for her, you thought. She was so beautiful, and when she smiled, her whole face seemed to shine from within with the purest of lights. You had been lying to yourself when you referred to her as your crush, it was way more than that: you were utterly smitten with her, and had been for a while. You tried to focus on what she was saying, trying to engage the passionate side of her that you loved so much.

“I mean, I get it’s a classic, but I can’t help but feel that it would have been much better if we got to see more of Lady Galadriel and her powers. She could have been quite the asset to the Fellowship...and we would have gotten to see more of Cate Blanchett in the movies as well!”

“But it would have made no sense for a queen of elves such as herself to join such a ragtag band of misfits!” Always the nerd, Marilyn couldn’t resist a good tease on one of her favorite fantasy classics, and that made pulling her leg that much more fun: “That’s rubbish! You don’t need for it to make sense for it to be more screen time with a hot elven lady!”

“Oh, come on, she’s not even close to your age! Even in this film, Cate Blanchett was like, what, at the very least ten years older than you are now or something?”

“Oh, let me correct then, a hot older elven lady. And elves don’t really age anyways, am I right?” You elbowed her lightly in the ribs, eliciting a laugh. “Stop it! I’m serious here!” she swatted you playfully on the shoulder, and you noticed that your exchange had brought you closer to each other, and that your knees were basically touching by now. Suddenly the atmosphere felt charged.

“What’s wrong with older women? Age is but a social construct anyways. Who cares if there’s an age gap nowadays? As long as there’s love, age shouldn’t matter.” The electricity in the air felt live on your skin, it felt like a momentous occasion, and suddenly, you weren’t talking about Cate Blanchett anymore. Was that all Marilyn had against giving you a chance? The fact that you were some ten years her younger? In this day and age? Could that be the reason for the secret messages with the flowers – if it was her sending them – , maybe she felt too old to make an overt move?

“How could you even be sure it’s love though? When your experiences in life are so vastly different? A couple of years don’t make that much a difference, but when it’s a decade? Or more? How would you even know?” Marilyn wasn’t looking at you, playing absentmindedly with the armrest of the couch to her side.

“Are you serious? Marilyn, I don’t need a time stamp to know that my feelings are real, no matter the age gap. I might be young, but I am not stupid!”

You turned fully towards her, a leg folded under you, the other left hanging towards the floor. Engrossed in your righteous campaign, you put a hand on her thigh, burning with the unrelenting need to make her see reason. It wasn’t until you noticed that she was gripping spasmodically the armrest, so strongly that her knuckles were white as bone that you realized what you had just said. Fuck.

You removed your hand, but didn’t take what you said back. That you wouldn’t do.

“This…this is purely theoretical, right?” she asked, stumbling on her words, a pleading in her voice that didn’t sit right with you, “You don’t really have feelings for an older woman, do you?” She seemed almost scared at the prospect, not delighted as you might have hoped. This was your chance to back down. You could deflect, and return to your silent pining, for always regretting wasting this one occasion you had. Or you could risk it all, risk throwing away this friendship you had with her, the little moments of joy that made your heart only grow fonder and more restless.

To hell with it. ‘Tis better to have loved and lost, than never have loved at all.

You steered yourself, setting your jaw strong as you prepared to lay your heart bare.

“It’s not theoretical, Marilyn. I am in love with an older woman. In fact, I—”

"But that's just wrong!!" You reeled back, struck almost physically both by her words and by the horror painted on her face as she turned to face you, finally. You thought you could feel your heart ripping within your chest at the way she struggled to put her dismay into words. There went your one chance. What was that about having loved and lost? You couldn't help the tears filling your eyes at her harsh words she chose to reject you. At how venomous they were as they dripped from those lips you had been long dreaming of kissing. Wishful thinking.

Marilyn sat up, bending towards you, a hand finding its way on your arm, her voice almost pleading now, "Please tell me you are joking. You are so young. You have your whole life in front of you…you shouldn't be even thinking about something so…so inappropriate!" Every word was a stab, and then a twisting of the knife. That wasn’t how you had expected her to react to your confession: even when you had tried to steel yourself for a rejection, you had expected sweet, lovely Marilyn – the woman who sang to her plants and cooed encouragement to them, the soft-spoken woman you had fallen in love with – you had expected her to be kind about it. She should have been regretful that she didn’t return your feelings, and her voice should have been gentle as she told you she was sorry, but she only saw you as a friend. You could have dealt with that. You would have accepted it, and told her that your friendship was also important to you and you would not your feelings change what you had.

But this? The horrified disbelief you heard and saw coming from her was worse than any nightmare your mind could have concocted. Nothing could have prepared you for this.

"I…" the words you wanted to say got stuck in the knot that held your throat in a vice. You swallowed thickly, but it didn't change one thing. You staggered to your feet, letting her hand fall limply back on the cushions. You didn’t want to cry in front of her. "I…I think I'll…go" you managed to croak out as you made your way to the door, blinded by the tears. You stumbled against the coffee table, almost falling in your haste to escape. You didn’t even feel the hurt of the hit. The pain radiating from your chest was way stronger.

"No, wait, I'm sorry… I didn't mean to…I-"

But there was no way you could stay and listen to what Marilyn had to say now, after she had just crushed your heart so mercilessly. You let the door slam closed behind you as you ran back towards your rooms, letting tears free to stream down your face, but you came to a halt in front of your doors: you couldn't face your own quarters right now, filled with flowers and lovely plants that you now knew could never come from the one you desperately wanted. So you went just a little further, and you knocked on the door of the one person who you knew you could always count on.

It took less than a minute for Larissa to open, well used to be always on call for school emergencies of any kind. She clearly had been heading for bed, as there was no makeup on her face, her hair was unpinned and falling around her face in waves, and she was wrapped in a tartan dressing gown. Her face fell as she saw you sobbing desperately on her doorstep.

"My darling what happened? Are you hurt?" You threw yourself at her, and she instinctively wrapped you in a hug, petting your hair with one hand and making comforting noises. After a while she ushered you in, and you ended up sitting on her couch, your face still half-hidden in her tartan, your body still wrecked by your heartbreak.

"My darling kid, my precious assistant, What happened to make you so desperate? Weren't you supposed to be watching one of those fantastical movies with Marilyn?"

At her name, your crying doubled in strength. You didn't want to talk about her, you didn't want to even think about her. Of how pain and horror had mixed on her beautiful face when you had confessed your feelings. Of how she had pleaded for you to tell her it wasn’t true, it wasn’t real.

"Did…did you tell her how you feel?" Larissa knew of your feelings for her botany professor. Of how what had started as a silly crush had slowly developed into something more, something deep and meaningful. Something closely resembling love. She had helped you process how you felt, never judgmental, never pushy, but always lending a sympathetic ear to your rambles.

You nodded, unable to stop your sobs as you whispered, "She…she told me what… what I feel is wrong and… inappropriate."

"Oh, sweetheart! I am so, so sorry." She hugged you again, rocking you slightly, like you were but a baby, wailing in its mother's arms. "Love is never wrong, or inappropriate, although sometimes it might be misplaced. Your feelings are precious and beautiful, and the fact that they are not appreciated by her only means that she is not the right one for you. You deserve someone that would make you smile with the light of a thousand suns; you deserve someone that cherishes you, and cares for your well-being and that will wear your love like a badge of honor, the greatest of all prizes known to humankind. Someone that looks at you and sees a wonderful human being, so full of energy, and promise, and vitality. Someone that loves you as much as you do them, and then some more. You will find that person, I promise you. And then you’ll look back to this pain and see it was all part of the road that led you there."

You felt like her arms and her love were the only think keeping you from fracturing into a thousand small pieces right now, and you couldn’t help but thank the gods that had put Larissa Weems on your path.

"I don't know what I would do without you…mom," you mumbled in the softness of her dressing gown, and she took a sharp intake of breath, before she hugged you even closer, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head. Even though she had acted like a parental figure for the whole time you had known each other – more than your birth parents did, even when you had only been one in many students here at Nevermore – you had never explicitly acknowledged the fact that you considered her your mother, and had done so for quite some time. You felt emotion running thick in her voice as she replied, "My baby, my precious darling. I'll be right here for you for as long as I live. I promise you you’ll never be alone in your pain while I’m here."

You ended up falling asleep on her, and when you woke up in the morning, head pounding and eyes feeling puffy and heavy, you were touched to see a woolen blanket carefully tucked around you. No matter the sorrow and the heartbreak, you had someone that loved you fiercely, someone that supported you in your decisions and carefully held you when the world seemed to be collapsing around you. You were blessed. You folded the blanket carefully, putting it on the back of the couch, before tip-tapping towards the door. There was no sound coming from Larissa’s bedroom, and the light filtering through the curtains had still the cold quality of the early morning. You didn't want to wake her up early, and you needed a hot shower to start to feel somewhat human again. You felt like you could face your quarters now, if not the rest of the world.

You closed the door behind you circumspectly, like a thief sneaking out of the crime scene, then turned towards your own door and promptly froze.

There, on your doorstep, unequivocally caught in the act of setting down a single purple hyacinth in front of your door, was Marilyn.

She turned towards you, so many emotions flitting over her face that it was impossible for you to understand any of them, before her eyes moved to the door you had just closed behind you and set into a stony gaze, her lips pressed together and turned downwards in an angry frown.

"I guess you didn't take my words too hard if you're sneaking out of her rooms at this hour." The sharp edge in her words caught you by surprise, even though you were now starting to suspect that you had no idea who Marilyn really was anymore. This angry, poisonous person was a stranger.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Was it a new development or is it just part of your contract? Do you assist her in taking off her clothes as well as with paperwork?" The venom in her voice, the dark, twisted taunting that coated her words made you bristle in anger. Not only was she here on your doorstep in the early hours of the morning after discarding your feelings like yesterday’s trash, but she had the nerve to snipe at you, too?

"Just what the fuck are you trying to imply here, Marilyn? Wasn't it enough for you to break my heart yesterday? What do you want now?" She had the nerve to scoff at you. "Break your heart, oh, please. Spare me the dramatics. I only gave you a good dose of reality, one that you apparently chose to ignore."

"Oh, it's that what it's called now? Reality? Calling what I feel wrong and…and inappropriate?" Even throwing back her words at her caused the familiar knot to climb back in your throat. It was too soon to be having this conversation. The wound was too fresh in your heart, and your mind was still reeling at this new, bitter doppelganger of the woman you were still irrevocably in love with, a woman you were beginning to think never existed in the first place.

But no matter the bitterness, you could see a trace of the old Marilyn – of your Marilyn –  in the way she passed her hand on her face, now looking more sad and tired than angry. Her voice had lost her edge too, as she murmured, "I'm sorry I was so harsh, believe it or not I do care for you. That’s why I’m trying to make you see things as they are. That principal Weems is encouraging you in this…this madness, it’s unacceptable. She's just manipulating you, don't you see?" You seethed. How dare she insult the one person who had made you feel accepted and valid and loved? Suddenly the tightness in your throat was gone, righteous anger coursing through you like a purifying fire. "Don't you even dare bring her into this. Larissa has always been there for me when I needed her the most. You trying to sabotage the only good thing that I have left in my life is what's really unacceptable here."

"But that’s precisely it! You are mistaking your gratitude for something else, and she takes advantage of it. She's just playing with you! And you are just too naive to understand it." You looked at her as if you were seeing her for the first time. Her jaw was clenched, as if she was the one in pain here, her eyes almost begging you to understand what she was telling you. Oh, you understood perfectly. For some twisted reason breaking your heart wasn’t enough for her, she wanted to drive a wedge between you and Larissa. She wanted you to be completely alone in the world. You let your eyes fall from her face, the anger that had enveloped you like a river of molten lava had now solidified in a block of icy stone as you focused on the purple flower she was clutching in her hand.

"It seems to me that the only one playing games with me here is you. You have been my secret admirer all this time, haven't you?" You asked, stressing the term mockingly. The way Marilyn’s head fell, hiding her face from your view was confession enough. And no matter how much you had hoped for this to be the case, it didn't bring you any joy now. It had all been part of an elaborate game, one that didn’t make any sense it its cruelty.

You made your way past her, almost shouldering her out of the way, before slotting in the key in your door. But you couldn't bring yourself to open and finish this conversation before asking the one question that was still burning through you in anguish.

"Why?" You whispered, leaning your head against the door, hoping to find some sort of strength in it.

"..." She seemed unable to find the words to answer. You turned to her again, all the anger long gone, and only sadness left in your voice. "Why did you do that, Marilyn? Leaving me those beautiful flowers, making my days brighter and colorful, and then taking the time to explain them to me, talking about love and devotion and shyness and all of that. Giving me hope, only to crush it when I finally got the courage to confess my love for you…I don't get it. What did you have to gain from it? Do you hate me so much that my pain is fun to you? I… I didn't think you were this sort of person, or I would have tried harder not to fall in love with you." And no matter how much you wanted your feelings to stop, you were still in love with her, you thought sadly, eyes travelling up her hunched figure, over her red hair and towards her face – now again fully visible – and to her eyes. Those eyes that seemed to be even bigger than they usually were, wide, mesmerizing pools of golden brown, alight with passion and a thunderstorm of feelings. You could now recognize surprise and disbelief, and something else that you couldn't quite put your finger on, something softer. And softer was the voice she spoke in, little more than a whisper, in fact: "It…was me? The older woman you meant…was me?"

"Of course it was you. Who else would it be?"

"I… I thought that you and Larissa…"

You couldn't help it, you physically recoiled at the thought, your back hitting the door behind you, painfully. "What? No! Larissa is like a mother to me! I do love her, but I'm not in love with her. That would be so wrong!"

"That's what I've said!"

"Wait." You felt like you were getting whiplash from all the confusing emotions surrounding you like a maelstrom. “You thought I was speaking about Larissa all this time?”

“You were talking about being in love with an older woman, and the two of you are always together, always teasing each other way more than it’s usual for a principal and their assistant… And you coming out of her rooms early in the morning, still in yesterday’s clothes, I thought…I thought…”

You felt like you could cry in relief, and at the same time bash your head against the wall in frustration. All this heartache because of a fucking misunderstanding? “Marilyn, were you jealous of Larissa? Is that what all of this is about?” You could see the blush rising up her neck towards her cheeks, and again she moved her gaze to her feet. You suddenly felt unstable on your feet, the door behind you holding you up and anchoring you to reality as your mangled heart seem to suddenly leap back to life, stuttering with hope.

“Marilyn, I am going to need a clear answer here. Do you have any romantic feelings for me?”

“I…I do.”

“Good. I do too.” The words came out hard, as you determinedly peeled yourself from your door and crossed the distance between you, your hand sneaking up to grab her lapel. Your eyes were level with each other, your breaths already mingling; you could smell spearmint mixing with her usual jasmine scent. “I am going to kiss you. Is it alright, Marilyn?” Your lips were but a sigh away from hers as she exhaled a Yes that you immediately swallowed, locking your lips together in desperation. It wasn’t a tender kiss at all, it was an eager battle for dominance, as you bit down on her lower lip, and her hands came up to the nape of your neck, tangling in your hair as the kiss deepened, your tongues tasting each other, exploring your mouths as if they held the answers to any question in the world. You distantly felt your back being pushed to the wall beside your door as your hand feverishly moved to her sides, pulling her flush against yourself. She moaned lightly into your mouth, her knee finding its way between your legs, pinning you in place. Not that you wanted to be anywhere else, especially as her lips left your own to travel to the side of your neck kissing, nipping and exploring the sensitive skin under your ear. You thought you might be losing your head, overwhelmed as you were by sensation, elation coursing through your veins mixed with desire. She hadn’t rejected you. She wanted you.

“What is the meaning of this?” A hard voice froze you both, and your dazed eyes traveled a little further up the corridor, meeting with the towering figure of Larissa Weems, standing in front of her open door, hands clenched into fists at her sides, protective fury blazing on her face as she looked at how Marilyn’s body was pressing on your own. A mother bear, ready to face any threat to protect her cubs. You could feel Marilyn’s swallow as she tried to put some distance between you two, but you kept her in place, refusing to let her out of your embrace.

“Uhm. Apparently, there was a misunderstanding yesterday. So uhm, this is us clearing it up…” You sheepishly tried to answer. It would be inconvenient for Marilyn to be sentenced to death by an angry Larissa defending your honor. Or heart, or whatever.  Your mother in all but blood looked at you, clearly unconvinced, but willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. “Very well. I however encourage you to continue this…discussion in the privacy of your rooms. This is a school, after all.”

You sheepishly nodded, and relinquished your hold on Marilyn as you both shuffled towards your door, under the severe gaze of Larissa. “Oh and by the way…” she added, as you were about to close the door. You stopped, a whisper of dread trickling down your back at the dangerous tone of her voice “…I expect you both for lunch in my quarters. It seems like we have things to talk about as a family.” How could she make something so sweet sound so scary? You swallowed, nodding your head in acquiescence. “We’ll be there, mom!”

As you closed the door and turned towards Marilyn’s petrified face, you couldn’t help it. You started chuckling, then slowly your chuckles grew in intensity, to become a full-out laughter at the absurdity at you morning so far. Marilyn watched you as you wheezed with unbridled mirth, your hands coming up to wipe away the tears that had started to accumulate at the corners of your eyes.

“I…I’m sorry,” you managed to choke through your hilarity, “this is just…” but you couldn’t even finish the sentence, new laughter bubbling through as soon as your eyes met her shocked features, that were slowly turning more and more towards a sort of sheepish frustration. “Not funny!” she grumbled, her cheeks bright red by now, letting herself fall dramatically on the couch. “It kinda is though,” you guffawed, “You got yourself in trouble with the in-laws with the first kiss!”

She groaned, picking up a cushion and burying her face in it “Oh God, I’ve never been so embarrassed in my whole life. She is gonna murder me.” You perched yourself in the small space between her body and the edge of the couch, prying the cushion from her hands and letting it fall to the side. “Don’t worry, I won’t let her kill you.” Her distraught face peered up at you, glasses fogged up, hair messily splayed around her in a fiery halo. The remains of your laughter evaporated, as you lost yourself in her beauty, a hand instinctually coming up to cup the side of her cheek. Time stretched, losing any meaning while you were deep in contemplation.

“You are so damn beautiful, Marilyn.” You whispered, drinking in all the details as if you needed to commit them to memory for all eternity. You almost held your breath in awe, your thumb delicately caressing her cheek, her nose, then slowly dragging over her lower lip. How could this be real? Maybe you were still asleep on Larissa’s couch, and this was just an elaborate and very vivid dream.

“Are…are you sure about it?” She inadvertently echoed your thoughts, her voice small and fragile and oh so hopeful. “About the fact that you are beautiful? Of course.” You jokingly answered, thumb still stroking her cheekbone tenderly. She pouted under your hand. “Not that. About this,” she lifted the hand from the back of the couch where it was abandoned, to gesticulate vaguely between you two, “about us.” You brought your other hand up to perfectly frame her face between your fingers. “I think…” you placed a butterfly kiss on her forehead over her bangs “…I would like to give us a try…” you kissed her right cheekbone, just under the rim of her glasses “…to go on dates with you…” the left cheekbone was next “…to cuddle with you as we watch movies together…” the tip of the nose “…and, if you like, to spend the nights making love to you.” You ended your speech placing a kiss on her lips, a sweet meeting of lips, a seal of your love.

“But…why? I’m just…me.”

“You is all I want, Marilyn. If you’ll have me.”

----- The End -----

You stand in the center of Mesagoza, about to compete in the first ever School Battle Brawl Academy Ace Tournament. You know you’ll probably win the whole thing, having recently become a champion, but you can’t help but feel nervous with all these eyes on you. 

With the exception of being on Iono’s streams a few times, your audiences have been relatively small. But right now, nearly everyone you go to school with — teachers included — and even random passersby of Mesagoza are waiting eagerly to see their region’s newest champion in action.

On your side of the court, you fiddle with a Pokéball, tapping your feet against one another, trying to steady your breathing as you patiently await the battles that are to come. Your heart jumps to your throat as Clavell begins announcing your first opponent, and ripping the metaphorical bandaid off, you finally look up. Before the chairman can say your challenger’s name, though, you’re whispering it to yourself. Grinning wider than you have in weeks, nerves melting away. 

You haven’t seen Arven much since the whole incident at Area Zero, having been bombarded with your new champion duties so shortly after. You hadn’t realized how much you truly missed seeing those piercing teal eyes; or the streaky, puffy hair; or naturally pouty, almost angry-looking face, until now.

More importantly, you’ve missed his voice. You feel comfortable and warm as he gives a whole spiel about how it’s “just his luck” to be paired against his “little champion.” He assumes you’d be surprised to see him at an event like this, but at the accusation, you shake your head ‘no,’ knowing fully how passionate he can become when he sets his mind to something. It throws him for a loop, but only gives him more encouragement to do his best – for himself, and for you.

You begin battling no more than a minute after the exchange, and the grin doesn’t leave your eyes or lips. To others, it probably just looks like you really enjoy battling. 

To Arven, you look nuts. 

He’s seen you battle plenty. He knows that, more often than not, you look determined, sometimes even scary, when you compete. What’s different this time? Has La Primera really gotten to you that quickly?

As he's lost in thought, a second member of Arven’s team goes down. You still have that look as you return your own Pokémon to its ball, letting it rest while another comes out to play. He begins to feel self-conscious, and it turns quickly into frustration. 

Is he a joke to you? Are you on the verge of laughter because you’re kicking his butt so hard? What's going on?

Arven knows that those things wouldn’t be characteristic of you, considering how supportive you’ve always been of him… but what if that’s changed? Needing answers, he speaks up about it. 

“What’s up with that dumb face?” he shouts before the two of you can begin the next round.

Your eyes widen, and then soften. After that, a giggle comes out of you that makes Arven’s breath hitch. Arceus, he missed his little buddy’s laugh.

“I’m just… really happy to see you!”

Oh.

Oh, nothing could have prepared him for that. 

Arven’s own eyes widen, his face flushes, and your smile contagiously spreads to his features. He’s never really had anyone who’s happy just to be around him, at least to his knowledge. His own parents neglected him, leaving him without family, and he’s always struggled to make friends, leaving him without any form of kinship. 

And yet here you are. 

You helped Arven bring his partner back from what was basically the brink of death, and barely needed to be convinced to do so. You were there to console him when he found out his real parents are gone forever, with only AI in their stead, who also left him. You brought him closer to Nemona and Penny, and even if they’re insufferable at times, they’re some of the best friends he’s ever had.

Deep down, Arven thought that maybe you’re just a really kind person. A true, textbook-definition of a hero. There’s no way someone could care that much about him, surely.

…Yet here you are! Genuinely happy just to be reunited with your buddy.